Escape with the Dream Maker by Gilbert L. Morris Read Free Book Online Page B

Abbey?”
    Abbey’s eyes glowed with the memory. “It’s what I’ve always wanted to do—be a fashion model.” She looked down at the dusty shoes she wore and said quietly, “I was wearing a fuschia dress and gold lamé shoes. I wish you could have seen me, Oliver.”
    â€œWell, I’m glad you like the Dream Maker, Abbey. Would you like to go back?”
    â€œOh, yes,” Abbey breathed. “Would you mind, Oliver?”
    â€œNot a bit. Let’s put the headset on. Now, drink it down—and here we go again . . .”
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    The white-haired old man stared at Jake. His blunt face was seamed, and his voice quivered, but his eyes were keen with intelligence. “You did a fine job with this experiment, my boy. Where did you learn science like this?”
    It was a proud moment for Jake, and he said, “Mr. Edison, I’ve always been interested in science. I’m so glad you let me come to work for you here at your laboratory.”
    â€œCome over here, and let me show you what I’m doing. I’m trying to make a new invention.”
    â€œWhat will it be, Mr. Edison?”
    â€œWell, men have been making pictures for quite awhile, but they’re
still
pictures. What I want to do,” Edison said loudly—for he was quite deaf—“is to make pictures that move.”
    â€œMoving
pictures?” Jake said. “That would be great.”
    â€œYes, it would, but I can’t seem to come up with exactly the right way to do it.”
    Jake said quickly, “Why don’t you make a series of pictures, and then show them so fast that it
seems
like they’re moving.”
    Edison stared at him. “Why, that’s wonderful. Just the idea I needed, but you’ll have to help me, Jake.”
    â€œOf course, Mr. Edison. I’ll be glad to.”
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    Jake soon found himself back in the room with Oliver, who said, “So did you help Mr. Edison invent something?”
    â€œSure did. Now let’s go back again, and I can help Mr. Alexander Graham Bell invent the telephone.”
    â€œAnything you say, Jake. After all, you’ve worked hard. You need a rest and a break.”
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    Shells were flying and bursting all around. Sarah crouched low over a soldier who was bleeding terribly from a wound in his lower arm.
    â€œBe still,” she said. “You’ve been badly wounded.”
    The soldier looked up at her with dazed eyes. “Is that you? Is it Miss Florence Nightingale?”
    â€œNo, I’m not Miss Nightingale, but I’m one of her nurses. Be still now.”
    The soldier looked down at his mangled arm. He said, “I’m going to die, aren’t I, miss?”
    â€œNo, you’re not going to die. The doctors will be here soon.”
    â€œWhat’s your name, miss?”
    â€œIt’s Sarah Collingwood.”
    The soldier turned his eyes away from his bleeding arm and said, “Why did you come all the way out to the Crimea? This is a dirty, nasty business. It can’t be very pleasant for a young woman.”
    â€œI came out for the same reason as Florence Nightingale,” Sarah said quietly. “To help do what I could for those of you who are serving your country.”
    The soldier gasped. “I’m glad you came, Miss Collingwood. Don’t leave me.”
    â€œNo, I won’t do that. Now, lie quietly until the doctor comes . . .”
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    Oliver’s voice was saying, “That was quite a dream you had—going all the way to the Crimea to nurse the English soldiers.”
    Sarah opened her eyes. “That war was awful. I wanted to help so much.”
    â€œYou’ve learned a lot about Miss Florence Nightingale. She was a wonderful woman.”
    â€œYes, she was. I’d like to be just like her,” Sarah said.
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    â€œWell, Wash,” Oliver greeted him, “I’ve been wondering when you’d come